


Joulupukki

by cyanideinsomnia



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ghost Goat Lucio (The Arcana), Holidays, Platonic Cuddling, Seasonal, vague nondenominational celebrations, volta being cute as fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28145757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanideinsomnia/pseuds/cyanideinsomnia
Summary: The Winter Ball was coming.It would be the first one without their beloved Count, not that anyone seemed to notice.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	Joulupukki

**Author's Note:**

> "joulupukki" is finnish for "yule goat" (was going to just do yule goat but remembered it has a Term)

The Winter Ball was coming.

It would be the first one without their beloved Count, not that anyone seemed to notice.

He’d caught glimpses of garlands, glittering flourishes of navy and gold and white satin, the faint scent of cinnamon and nutmeg, spiced wine and cooking meat. Singing and laughter echoing through the halls, maddening like silver bells. The memories of balls past burning in his mind - not as grand as the Masquerade, but just as torturous knowing it was kept from him.

His disgusting, beastlike form stood awkwardly hunched in front of one of the soot-covered mirrors, a golden cape trimmed in white fur that looked so small and delicate clutched in his monstrous hand. It would never fit across his shoulders.

And yet, seized by some stupid whim, Lucio carefully guided it upwards and over, grasping the other edge in his monstrous teeth to pull it flush against his left shoulder, covering the stump. By some miracle it stayed there, draped over flesh that didn’t exist, even as he stepped back to appraise himself in the mirror, tipping his head up and his chest out in old arrogance.

For a brief moment, he could almost see the man that had worn this cape before.

"Aww! You look so dashing!"

The cape had barely hit the floor before he fled to the invisible safety of the shadows behind his bed.

"Oh-- don't be scared! It's just Volta!" A small humanoid shape in the doorway chirped, her good eye oddly bright as she began to step towards the bed. 

He hadn't heard her coming. He wasn't  _ scared _ . 

_ Get the hell out.  _ Lucio snarled.

The tiny footsteps paused - and then ardently continued, until she was peeking over the other side of his destroyed bed, clutching something that looked like a basket in her little hands, gazing almost uncannily close to where he had disincorporealized as if she could actually  _ see _ him. This close he could see she was also bedecked in navy and gold and white, with little snowflakes on the edge of her dress.

… she was also wearing his discarded cape over the top of it. He hated that it looked nice on her. 

_ What do you want from me? _

Volta tipped her head to the side with an owlish blink. "I don't want anything, no, no. I brought a good little gift for good little ghosts."

She proudly held out the basket, and for a moment he was tempted to slap it out of her tiny hands. He was instead caught by another impulse, to lean forward and very carefully sniff it with his elongated snout, keeping a wary eye on its bearer in case this was some kind of trap.

The faint scent of nutmeg and cinnamon drifted through his senses again, much closer than before yet still so far. Coming from the basket. 

It was food. There was  _ food _ in here, that she hadn’t eaten yet somehow.

**_Give it to me._ **

Without a second thought he manifested enough of himself to lash out and grab the basket in his teeth, like a predator snapping up hapless prey, dragging it back to his side of the bed moments before it tore open in his grasp, the scent growing stronger as a set of small bronze shapes hit the floor next to his monstrous feet.

She barely flinched, just grinning at him with the same kind of glee as a young child feeding a horse a treat for the first time. 

_ “Now leave me.”  _ He growled and turned his attention more closely to the spots of gingerbread on the floor, a moment of trepidation overwhelming his hunger as he remembered all too well the other attempts to eat before.

But maybe it would be different. Maybe because  _ she  _ had touched them-- the same twisted magic that kept him prisoner flowing through her veins--

“Are you sure?” The small voice chirped, and he glanced up to find Volta sitting on his bed as if she belonged there. 

His ears pinned back.  _ “Am I sure  _ what _?” _

“That you want Volta to leave.” She explained _.  _ “It can be very lonely this time of year, you know. When people are celebrating and you don’t have anything to celebrate.”

It took him a moment to realize what she seemed to be getting at, feeling his hackles start to raise. Where was this sentimental nonsense before, when he was human and dying alone?

“ _ You think I want  _ your _ companionship?? I’d rather be left in hell. _ ”

She glanced towards the door, but didn’t move from the bed. There was an odd look in her eye - something distant, melancholy, almost  _ human.  _ “I know what it’s like to be hungry and lonely and hurting. On the outside looking in at warm fires and happy families while you’re cold and alone.”

Lucio couldn’t find a response to that. He returned his attention to the cookies, feeling his fury slip from his claws unbidden. 

“..  _ I hate you. _ ” He said, finally. “ _ You realize that, don’t you? I hate the whole lot of you. _ ”

“Mhm.” 

Another stupid impulse led him to slowly, carefully crawl up onto the bed next to her, now fully materialized, horns to hooves to twitching tail, easily dwarfing her. “ _ You could be down there right now, eating and dancing with the rest of them. And yet-- what is this? What’s your game? _ ”

Instead of answering him, those tiny hands gently tugged at his fur, guiding his head and neck across her lap in an awkward half-lying position before he could stop himself. He wasn’t given the opportunity to struggle or complain before she was drawing her fingers through the fur of his neck like he might stroke one of his own dogs, slowly, softly petting him.

… it felt nice.

He slowly shifted the rest of his horrific body into a more comfortable position, half-curled around her on the bed, giving her unspoken permission to continue. He shouldn’t be enjoying this. This was demeaning. And yet he was arching into her touch, simple affection denied to him for what felt like an eternity.

“Good little gifts for good little goats,” Volta giggled, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He hated that he liked that, too.


End file.
